Deadly Itch

It kind of pisses me off when I know you’re checking for me. I sort of wish you wouldn’t because then I wouldn’t have to think about you. You’re like a mosquito bite that used to itch the hell out of me and as time went on, the irritation subsided…but then here you go popping up on some social network reactivating my itch. At some point it goes away, I guess. But for now, you fucking itch.

I love you and all, I do. It’s hard for me to come by someone who just gets me and knows how to maneuver around my twisted ways. It’s a blessing, but at the same time it’s a curse. When those few and far between people leave me, I have nothing and no one. I’m forced to deal with myself. I’m alone with my own thoughts and you and I both know that can be a scary place. It’s hard without you, but it’s better than half of you.

So when you check for me, it bothers me. It’s like a fourth of you. It’s saying, “Hey! I care about you, but not enough to call or text or email or write or anything like that. Just enough to creep and see if you’re progressing in life via what you share on LinkedIn. I deleted Facebook and Twitter. I’m so over the angst social media gives me and the temptation to be YOUR itch. I won’t do that. I’ll let you rest. Once someone lets me know they want me out of their life, I’m gone. Follow suit, young mosquito. This is what you wanted. Stop sucking my blood, you’re killing yourself anyway, and leaving me to feel your pain.


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